Misimprint
by Julieanne-Arc
Summary: Claire never knew much about her mom's family, let alone imprinting. Hearing voices and having strange dreams leads her on a serendipitous path to La Push, finding answers to questions she had never even asked herself. Claire & Quil.
1. Chapter 1

**_Disclaimer: _**_Stephenie Meyer owns all background information and characters.

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**_Claire:_**

Ah, Southern California.

I never really appreciated my life here. Though I was put in a good school, lived in pretty suburbs that mirrored the idea of _Pleasantville_, and belonged to a family that was strangely similar to that of a _Stepford_, the idea of being _privileged_ or _lucky_ never really sat well with me.

I refer to my family as a _Stepford_ one, because that's what my mom is to me. She's a nice lady, I suppose. Or more so, she's adamant on people believing she is; on believing every part of her life is. A nice big house surrounded by a nice white picket fence, a nice husband in a nice suit, nice children dressed in nice clothes. All wrapped in a nice bow.

Little did she know, I was just about going crazy. In the _literal_ sense, not the normal rebellious, out-of-control teenager sense. Quite the opposite actually. Crazy in the sense that lack of proper socialization had triggered voices in my head. Or maybe just _one_ voice to be accurate, and it rarely even occurred. Sometimes, I would convince myself I'd just imagined it.

Despite the voice, I didn't really feel like a "crazy" person, so I simply chose not to tell anyone about it. I wasn't sure how healthy it was to keep that kind of thing to myself, but I didn't have a lot of friends to tell, and knowing my mother, I was sure it wouldn't be helpful to say anything to _her_.

It rarely told me anything of consequence anyway. The few times in my life I did hear it, it randomly hurled out pre-cautions, like, "_STOP!_" that time I nearly crossed the road into passing traffic, looking the wrong way. I figured it was probably God or my guardian angel or something. Maybe everyone else had one too, but mine was just a bit more _present,_ working a little harder than required due to my unhelpful tendency to day-dream and get lost in my thoughts.

Growing up, I always felt a little out of place in the world my parents had built up around me. I wasn't_ soul searching_ or _feeling empty,_ or any other cliché babble like that, but more so just _socially awkward. _No one really got me. It took me until I was fifteen to come to that conclusion.

Figuring it was pointless to drown in self-pity, I spent my time engaging in solitary hobbies; reading books, playing music and creating art. Oh, art. My wild imagination that longed to run out far and wide from my monotonous life had paved the way to an obsession for painting. I was getting quite good now. At first my mom worried about me, always locked away in the basement alone, painting for hours on end. People would rarely see me outside the house or engaging in social activity, and she worried what they would think.

Somehow, it worked out for her though. I got so good that I actually received statewide recognition for a collection I put together at school. My work was displayed in an exhibition where my mother kindly didn't let anyone forget that I, the artist, was her daughter.

"They're beautiful pieces."

I stood in a loose small circle of my parents' closest acquaintances, as Mrs. RedLipstick-FourthChampagne complimented my work to my father.

"Yeah, she didn't get the talent from me, I'll tell you that much!" he chuckled.

"Oh, must have been from your side then?" she implied, looking at my mother expectantly.

My mother hesitated for the shortest second, though I'm sure this would have gone unnoticed by ChampagneLady, who was now at the point of holding on to her husband to maintain her balance. My mother simply nodded, then was conveniently occupied with a passing cater-waiter who offered her some wine. Considering my mother doesn't drink, I knew she was avoiding the lady's question. She probably just didn't want to engage in conversation with a drunk. Being drunk in public is not classy, after all. And God forbid my mother be associated with someone without class.

I rolled my eyes at the thought.

The rest of the night went by like this. Maternal bragging, trite conversations, fake laughs, awkward vibes and much eye rolling on my part. By the last hour, the room was nearly empty. Of course, _we_ had to stay behind, with me being the guest of honor and all.

As my mother continued to mindlessly talk to the remaining guests by the bar, I stole away to the back wall where my paintings hung. Against the blinding white wall and glowing down-lights, they really were something.

I stood motionless, admiring my work, smirking at the fact that I was now officially considered an _artist._

"So what was your inspiration?"

I was pulled from my reverie by a now-taskless waiter, who stood in the corner to my right, empty tray in hand.

"_Dreams_," I answered.

"Oh. And here I was, thinking you were trying to send some sort of environmentalist or animal activist message across," he responded, smiling.

"What?"

"Well, the beach, the forest… the wolf," he answered, growing more hesitant as he continued, like he was afraid he was offending me.

"_Oh_."

I didn't say anything more than that, and slowly turned back around to continue looking at my work. He rightfully interpreted that as the end of our conversation, and quietly made his way out of the room.

It probably was a strange combination of images to put into a single collection. There wasn't much consistency between the paintings. They didn't tell a story, or stand for anything metaphorical. And his assumption did make sense, I supposed. I'd never admitted the true inspiration for my work to anyone else, but I figured since I would probably never see the guy again, the truth would be safe with him.

I'd been having the same dreams for as long as I could remember. The setting was always the beach or the forest. Nowhere else. And sometimes there would be a wolf with me. _With me_. Not just passing by, but as if it was walking next to me. Of course there was another thing I dreamed about, more than anything else:

A boy.

Or more rightfully, a man. Maybe somewhere in between. He had tan skin, and dark hair, a prominent jaw line, and a large frame, paired with long lean muscles. I could list every detail about his exterior. I knew his face so well. He was beautiful. But I knew nothing else about him. I'd never met him before, and in my dreams he never spoke. He was the only missing part of my painting collection. Though I dreamed about him the most, I chose not to submit the portrait I had painted of him. It was still locked away in my basement, yet to see the light of day.

I couldn't explain to myself why I chose not to show it to anyone. It just seemed so private to me. _He _just seemed so private to me. Like he belonged to me, and no one else.

On the ride home, I reflected over the night I had just endured, and the irony in my anti-social-dream delusions turning into a social event for my mom to joyfully engage in.

"Do you think I did?" I asked, finishing a thought that had barely registered in my head.

"Did what sweetie?" My father asked in response, looking into his rear view mirror to meet my eyes.

"Get my talent from mom's side?"

The more I thought about it, the more curious I became. I never considered it an inherited talent, as my mother never had much interest in arts. But what about her mother? Her sister?

Dad furrowed his eyebrows together for a moment, before looking back to the road, and simply shrugged. I didn't take that as a _no_, rather a subtle gesture telling me that I shouldn't be asking. He turned his head slightly, I assumed to check that my mother was still slumped asleep in her seat.

My mother never talked about her family. All I knew was that she had a sister, Emily. She was sensitive at any allusion to Emily and La Push, where she lived. Aside from Emily, I didn't know of anything else. I always assumed she was embarrassed of the small town life her family lived. She prided herself too much on the life she built after that, and never answered directly when speaking about them to friends and acquaintances.

_All in the name of keeping up appearances_, I surmised.

Dad's eyes cautiously returned to the rear-view mirror a few more times on the way home. It felt like he kept checking on me. Checking to see if I would press the conversation further.

_Weird._

I didn't look back into the mirror, in hopes of avoiding the awkwardness of being caught checking on him-checking on me. Why did it matter so much that I asked about mom's side? What image did she have to keep up with _me _anyway? Technically they were _my_ family, too. What do I care about their social status? I'd at least like to know enough about them to make that judgment for myself, thank you very much. My brows knit together as I mentally hurled verbal retaliations at my sleeping mother.

As soon as we were home, I quickened my pace through the front door and up the stairs into my room, eager to escape the watchful eye of my father.

I knew there was something I didn't know. My father had always been very laid-back and easy-going. He rarely wore the worried expression that I was surveillanced by almost the whole way home.

I laid on my bed, huffing out a large sigh. I was physically and mentally exhausted.

Of course, the dreams followed.


	2. Chapter 2

Graduation rolled around a week after the exhibition. I wasn't too worried about my final results like everyone else seemed to be. Thanks to my exposure at the exhibition, I had already earned an early admission to an Art School in Seattle I was desperately hoping and praying for since I was sixteen, so how I did in Calculus or Biology wasn't really a concern of mine anymore.

I was scheduled to board on campus for the semester, which was terrifying for my parents, but strangely exhilarating for me. I'd never slept a night in a bed other than my own, and honestly wasn't sure if I was even at a capacity to take care of myself so completely. Nonetheless, I didn't feel scared like I probably should have.

I still hadn't shaken the suspicion of the secrecy regarding my mom's family. I kept looking for windows of opportunity to re-open the discussion, but found myself biting my tongue just as the words were about to come out. I'd spout off crazy explanations in my head as I lay in bed every night, until the mental exhaustion won me over – sending me straight into my familiar dream sequences.

My dreams started to become more intense and began to feel more _real._ Lately, I'd often wind up in my dream, _knowing_ it was a dream. Dreams had never worked that way for me before, but I guess after eighteen years, that part of my brain eventually put two and two together. In a sense, it felt as though I might be getting _closer_ to answers.

The first night I realized I was actually in the midst of a dream, I tried to talk to the beautiful boy. He stood in front of me, and I asked him who he was.

He simply smiled in response.

"_Why am I always dreaming about you?"_

Still no response, just smiling.

My dream was cut short after only a few seconds. I awoke to a shaking motion as I realized my father was leaning over my bed, nudging my shoulder and calling my name.

"_What?_" I asked, leaning onto my elbows, bewildered by his urgency to wake me up on a random Monday night.

"You were- having a nightmare," he replied, looking a little stunned.

_I was? No I wasn't. Was I?_ I couldn't remember by now.

"Why don't you go downstairs and have a cold drink of water before you go back to sleep?" he offered.

_What?_

"Um… no… thanks."

He walked back towards my door, wearing the strange concerned expression I rarely saw on him. Before he was out, he took a quick glimpse back at me, then flicked off my light and closed my door. I sat staring after him, even after he was gone and I was left in the dark.

It was so strange. _Never_, has my father made an effort to wake me up from a nightmare before. Why would he wake me up for something so insignificant? Why would he want to protect _me_, an eighteen year old, from a _nightmare_? Wouldn't a cold drink of water just stun my system and keep me awake longer? Again, the eerie suspicion washed over me. He wore the same look of concern tonight as he did the night of the exhibition, while watching me in his rear view mirror. I didn't sleep well the rest of that night.

My dreams were chased away by my father's interception.

--

The time finally came for me to pack my bags, and prepare for my new life as a grown up. It took me three full days to sort through all my things; deciding what I really needed, sort of needed and definitely didn't need. Mom thought it would be best if I moved into my new place a few weeks before school started, so I could get used to living alone earlier and not feel overwhelmed when classes began. It was such a _mom_ thing to consider. I didn't mind though, it meant I could leave sooner.

On the third day of packing, I ran down the steps of the basement to collect my art supplies that I could never bring myself to part with, no matter what kind of fancy tools Art School had to offer. I stopped short on the last step, as I realized the stool in front of my canvas had been moved aside. Someone had been in here? It almost felt like an invasion of privacy, knowing someone else had been in here and seen the painting of the boy from my dreams – even if it was just someone from my family.

It was strange that who ever it was had never brought it up in conversation. Surely they would be curious. But there hadn't been any questions as to who he was, or why I painted him. Or more importantly, why I never showed anyone. I wondered who saw it. Aside from me, no one ever went into the basement anymore. Maybe I wasn't home at the time, and then they just forgot to ask.

As I looked at the painting from this angle on the bottom step, I realized the boy was looking directly at me. I continued off the step and veered to the left a little; still looking at me. I began to walk along the back wall, leaning side-to-side, only to find that wherever I stood in the room, the boy's eyes were still on me.

No matter where I went, he was always watching. I hadn't painted it like that intentionally, and was surprised to find I had never noticed until now. I used to find contrived portraits like that creepy, but this only made me smile now.

I pulled the painting off the stand, and tucked it under my arm as I ran back up the basement stairs. I tried to rush back up to my room, not wanting anyone else in the family to see the painting; sure I wouldn't be able to dodge the questions if I were caught with it in hand this time.

"_Claire?_"

I froze on the first step at the sound of my father's voice coming from the kitchen. After a few seconds of no response, he continued.

"Can you come in here for a second?"

I laid the painting carefully against the wall, faced down. I would have quickly sprinted my way up to my room to hide it away, then returned downstairs, but that may have seemed conspicuous.

I entered the kitchen to find him sitting at the dining table, with an almost empty cup of coffee placed in front of him. I didn't even know he was home. He must have been sitting there in silence all morning. I'd never seen my dad sitting alone pensively, at the table with coffee before. He was always in a rush to a meeting, or watching T.V or in the garden, or just… _anywhere_. But never just sitting at the table, relaxing over a cup of coffee, like a woman on a Sunday morning.

"Yes?" I hesitated, still standing just in front of the doorway.

He looked confused for a second before speaking, looking down into the cup.

"Why did you paint that picture of that boy?"

_Crap._

"What picture?" I asked defensively.

"The one of that Native American boy I saw in the basement."

I mentally paused at that before processing an answer.

Native American? _Was_ he Native American? I'd never even considered that, and I'd seen him almost every night in my dreams for more than a decade.

"Claire?" he continued, the concerned look resurfacing.

"I don't… know."

"Do you know him?"

If this was my father's attempt to have _the talk_ with me, it was going to be incredibly awkward and uncomfortable.

"I don't… know… I–"

He cut me off, making eye contact with me for the first time before he spoke again.

"You dream about him."

It was a statement, not a question.


	3. Chapter 3

"_How_–" I began, then suddenly ceased.

I didn't even know what I wanted to ask. Obviously he knew. Obviously I wanted to know how he knew. But for the most part, I was stuck somewhere between shock and embarrassment. Was he going to tell me about some mental condition I'd been born with, but just never told of? One where I suffer from nonsense visions and schizophrenic tendencies?

When I didn't continue, he took the initiative.

"I heard you."

_What?_

"The other night."

_Huh?_

"Dreaming."

_Oh._

I remained silent, unsure of what was appropriate to say now.

Still, how could he know? What could he have heard to confirm _that _boy was the boy from my dreams? Unless in my sleep talking, I described the boy's appearance in detail. _Unlikely._

I didn't want to press the conversation further, and felt myself shrinking inside as I stood in the doorway with no where to hide, suddenly feeling very exposed.

"Claire, let me ask you something…"

He was definitely going somewhere with this conversation, as he didn't appear to be waiting for me to answer the awkward exchange we just had. More as if he were waiting for the information to sink into my brain.

I nodded once, hesitantly.

"Why the forest, the beach and the wolf for your collection?"

I contemplated for a second, scared but curious to answer. Risk sounding crazy in admitting that I'd been dreaming of a seemingly magical forest, where a giant dog walks around with me like he's my best friend, for most of my life without telling anyone? Or make something up about _environmentalism_ and _animal activism_, and have us both know I was lying?

Apparently, I didn't have to pick either. He just shook his head, slightly smiling though his eyes were closed now; a gesture I interpreted as rendering the question rhetorical.

"Claire, I know you've been curious about Emily."

_Whoa._

I felt both relieved and perplexed by the change in subject. He probably sensed my reluctance and discomfort, and changed the topic to something he knew I'd be much more willing to delve into.

"Yeah?" I responded almost instantly as my head shot up, finally meeting his eyes.

Was he going to tell me the story now? He probably was, because this would likely be the last time it would just be he and I in the same room without Mom, before I left for school – she was out getting more boxes.

"Well, when you're up in Seattle, you should contact her and see if maybe you can visit her in La Push."

I had no idea if this was some kind of joke, but I felt a surge of hope kick into my system at his words, so I took the bait.

"Really?" I asked, a little incredulous.

I had been standing in the same spot throughout the whole conversation, though suddenly felt myself being drawn further into the room as I watched him reaching for something in his shirt pocket. He pulled out a small slip of folded white paper, and pushed it under his fingers across the table towards me. I reached out and unfolded it, still waiting for an explanation of what it was.

"It's her phone number." He said, answering before I asked.

Before I could pick one of the many questions out of my head to ask after this, I heard keys jingling at the front door and saw my father's frame stiffen at the sound. He looked back at me, and twitched his head to the side, motioning for me to go back upstairs I assumed. I concluded that he didn't want Mom to know about our little confusing, yet consequential encounter, so I headed back to my room with Emily's phone number tucked into my front pocket.

--

The voyage from _home_-home to my _new_ home on campus was long and numbing. I arrived at my empty dorm and hesitated for a moment as I stood in front of the off-white door. I took a deep breath before I entered the room, only to find it quite anti-climactic. It was just basically one rectangle white room with a bed and desk, and a small bathroom to the left. No kitchenette or closet or anything. _Bummer_. You'd think for an Art School there would be some color in the room at least. Or maybe we were supposed to be innovative, and decorate it ourselves or something.

I dropped my bags as the door closed behind me and flopped onto the bed, drifting off into a much-needed slumber. I awoke a few hours later, freaking out for a fleeting moment, forgetting where I was.

When I finally remembered, I lay awake for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling, letting the eeriness of the silence sink in. After that, I realized I was still in my jeans, which were extremely uncomfortable to sleep in. I went to change from them, until I noticed I still had Emily's phone number stuffed into the front pocket. I hadn't washed these jeans since I left.

I got changed, and placed the slip of paper on the desk that sat under the phone attached to the wall. I began to unpack and arrange my things into pathetic, haphazard piles across the floor. As the next hour passed, I kept finding myself looking back towards the desk at the slip of paper, making sure it was still there.

Eventually I caved in, and was across the room, phone in hand. I dialed slowly, not even sure what I was planning to say. I couldn't pace as I normally would in a nervous state such as this, as the cord was restricting in length. Instead, I sat on the floor, leaning against the wall.

I held my breath waiting for the ring tone. It began to ring. And ring. It rang for a long time. By the tenth ring, I was absentmindedly thinking about what I was going to even say. I probably should say, "You're niece, Claire" when introducing myself. She might know another Claire. Would she even know who I am? I didn't even know how long it had been since her and Mom had talked. Maybe before I was born. So she might not even know I exist. _I_ barely knew _she_ existed. So, would I just ask straight out if I could come and visit? Technically, we were strangers because we'd never met. Would she hold a grudge against me too, if she didn't like my mom? What if–

"_Hello?_"

I froze and dropped the phone in the same instant.

I hadn't heard the voice in my head for so long now. It sent me into mental shock and my eyes grew wide and unblinking. The phone dangled, swinging along the wall in my peripheral vision. It was so unexpected and strange to hear the voice; I wasn't in any form of danger, I didn't think. And it wasn't yelling any life saving cries at me. It said _Hello_, and it sounded different this time. More distant? Not as clear. But it was definitely there.

I remained unmoving, apart from my eyes that were surveying the room and all its surfaces. I slowly pulled my legs to my chest, and backed further into the corner. I _literally_ looked like a mental patient now, scrunched up into the corner of a blindingly white, plain room, listening for the voice in my head.

An hour passed as I sat in this corner, gradually convincing myself the voice wasn't coming back. I returned the phone to the hook, and then took it back off, to redial Emily's number.

It rang once before it was picked up.

"Hello?" It was Emily, I was sure. She sounded just like my mom.

"Hi," I responded, and then didn't continue, forgetting what I planned to say.

There was a silence before she spoke again.

"Yes?"

"This is… Claire." My voice became softer by the time I got to my name.

I heard her gasp.

"Claire?" she whispered.

I didn't speak right away; I let the information of my identity sink in on her for a second. She sounded like she needed it.

"I- I'm your niece… I think," I stammered.

_"Claire_…" she repeated, though this time her voice laced my name with such emotional affection.

"I was wondering if maybe… I could visit you… in La Push… this week. I'd really like to… meet you… if that's okay."

I kept tacking on more words when her silence began to make me feel awkward. I couldn't decide if she was in shock or just thinking of a way to politely decline.

"_Really? _You're coming here?" She sounded like she was in disbelief, though I couldn't tell if it was the good or bad kind.

"Only if that's okay. If- it's not too much–" I was still hesitant. The woman really didn't know me, so I was taken back with her response.

"Of course you can! No, of course! Of course! Where are you? Are you coming today?"

I relaxed a little at this, amused by her sudden enthusiasm.

"Well– I'm in Seattle now. But I can come tomorrow… if that's not too–"

"No of course it's not!" she chimed in, cutting me off. "Come tomorrow! How will you get here? Are you driving? Do you want me to pick you up?"

"No, I was thinking I'd take a taxi. If you could just give me your address? Then–"

"No, no! I want to pick you up. Where are you staying?"

I would have insisted on cabbing it, but just from this minute-long conversation, I could already tell she wouldn't be having that. So I gave her my address, and explained how I would be attending school here this year. She seemed _very_ excited. I didn't know what I was expecting her reaction to be like before this conversation, but whatever it was, this definitely wasn't it.

"Well, I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"Yep. I'll be waiting." I smiled as I said this, finally letting the excitement take over.

She sighed.

"I'm so glad you came back Claire." Relief painted the gentle tone of her voice.

I opened my mouth to say something, but then paused at her statement.

Before I could say anything, she had already hung up.

_Came back?_


	4. Chapter 4

Emily wasn't coming to pick me up until later tonight, after we agreed that I should probably set up my room and explore my campus a bit more during the day. I hung a few of my paintings up around the room – an attempt to minimize the hospital _slash _asylum vibe the white walls seemed to be screaming. I found I felt strangely comforted by the painting of the boy that was placed next to my bed. Watching over me wherever I was in the room, felt oddly warming.

_Great_. My only friend out here was a person my subconscious had created.

I'd never been good at forming relationships. I had always guessed that part of my genetic make-up was missing. Like I'd been born without that gene or it had been taken away from me.

Or maybe I was just making excuses for _social retardation._

--

That night, I waited outside my building, sitting on a bench under a light post with my knees bouncing out of nervous habit. Not much traffic traveled through the secluded drive here, so anytime a car passed, I held my breath in anticipation.

Finally, an old red hatchback drove in, slowing as it approached. I abruptly stopped the motion of my knee as the car turned on its high beams. It continued to decelerate, but the passenger door was already opening. She stepped out, barely even closing the door behind her while the car was still rolling, eyes on me; squinting.

"Claire?"

I smiled and stood, slinging my bag over my shoulder.

She was running now.

"_Claire!_"

She had her arms around me before I could even say hi.

"Hi," I squeaked.

"You're _so_ beautiful!" She appraised, taking my face into her hands.

"Thanks," I replied, embarrassed by her compliment.

I could really see her face clearly now, as she finally stood still under the light. She was beautiful too, though she was marked with angry scars that crossed her face.

She took my hand and led me towards the car, which the driver was now leaning against.

"This is Jacob," she informed, with her free clapping against his chest.

"Hey Claire Bear," he greeted, pulling up one side of his mouth in a smile.

_Claire Bear?_

He was really tall and muscular. His face was cheery, despite his intimidating build, and he had a sense of youthfulness to him.

"Hi," I smiled, relieved at his friendliness.

He came forward then, and before I knew it, my feet were off the ground and he was pulling me into a bear hug.

_Wow. Okay._

He kissed my forehead and set me back down then pinched my cheek, like I was a little kid or something.

"It's good to see you again."

I hesitated to respond to this.

_Again?_

At that moment, he and Emily both looked at each other, then straight back to me. And then he just kept talking, as if rushing to fill the silence.

"I'll take that off your hands, Claire Bear," he offered, taking my bag and turning back towards the car.

Emily and I followed, and I climbed into the backseat as Jacob settled my stuff next to me via the other door. As he was leaning in right next to me, I locked my eyes on his face that was still looking down at my bag. His skin, his hair and his build were so similar to the boy from my dreams. Except his face was different, and he was a little more built. But still, the resemblance was there. It took me back a little. Before this, I'd never seen anyone who looked even _remotely_ similar to the boy. But Jacob was freakishly identical in so many ways. They could seriously be brothers.

_If the boy was real,_ I reminded myself, feeling pathetic.

I stopped looking when he looked up, but he seemed to have already sensed my staring, as I was quietly unmoving for those few seconds of contemplation.

"What?" he asked, the cheeky smile returning.

"Nothing. You just… look like someone. I think."

"Really?" his eyes grew wide, and his smile more pronounced. "Who?"

"I don't… know."

He didn't seem confused by my answer, and strangely, he was still smiling. More to himself though it seemed. He straightened back up and shut the door before climbing back into the driver's seat.

I spent most of the drive answering Emily's questions. She wanted to know about school, and my hobbies and what kind of foods I preferred. Trivial, but I guessed necessary since we really didn't know each other at all. Every now and then, Jacob would make a smart remark teasing me in some way, then go on and laugh at his own joke as Emily just shook her head. I appreciated it though. I had been worried about awkward dynamics with these strangers, but Jacob actually made me feel really comfortable. A few times, I actually found myself throwing sarcastic remarks back at him in the same fashion.

"You're good value, Claire," he mused, after I'd cracked another joke. "You'll fit right in with the pack."

I grimaced slightly. I didn't even know who _the pack_ was, or even how I was supposed to know Jacob. For all I knew, he could have been my cousin. I didn't want to ask just yet, hoping I could maybe figure it out later over the course of the conversation, and save myself the awkwardness of having to admit my Mom never told me anything.

Jacob drove _really_ fast, so I only caught glimpses of the beach between the walls of trees lining the side of the road as we flew past. I couldn't see much in the darkness, but found myself reflexively doing double takes at all the things that surrounded us, though I didn't know why.

He slowed as we made our way up a small hill where a single house stood. There was a loose circle of men standing in front on the grass, under the light shining off the porch. They were all dressed in shorts and t-shirts, or otherwise just shirtless.

They all looked up at our arrival, which instantly made me nervous.

Cousins? Uncles? Hobos?

As we got closer, I took in a deep breath.

"They're all family friends. They work with Sam and Jacob," Emily kindly informed me, probably sensing my sudden nervousness.

"Where is it that you work, exactly?" I asked, eyes still on the boys. Or were they men?

As I contemplated this, one of them playfully but forcefully punched another in the chest, and then took off laughing and running barefoot, with the other chasing closely behind him.

_Boys,_ I concluded, answering my previous query.

"We rotate shifts, taking turns to hunt down nomadic vampires."

"…_What?_"

"Jake!" Emily slapped his arm with the back of her hand.

"Well, she asked!" he laughed saying this.

Emily was just shaking her head at his bad joke, just as she had been at all his bad jokes the whole way home. I had to admit, they were getting pretty lame now.

"Fine," he paused for a second and looked into the rear view mirror at me.

"We work as patrol for La Push. Keep trouble out. That kinda stuff."

I guess that made sense. They were all huge. As big as Jacob.

"Oh, okay."

When we came to a stop, I got out of the car only meters away from them now. By this time the other two boys had already returned to the group.

_"CLAIRE BEARRRR!_" One voice yelled, while the others followed yelling similar greetings, even though I was standing in perfectly close hearing range.

They seemed _really_ excited to see me.

"Keep it down guys!" Emily warned, with urgent eyes.

I was passed around and hugged by all the giant men. My cheeks were pinched, my forehead was kissed and I was lifted up more times than I can count.

They each introduced themselves, _after_ the friendly assaulting seemed to be over.

Embry. Jared. Sam. Paul. Seth.

In midst of all the excitement, their voices got louder again.

"Keep it down! The others are sleeping _remember?_" Emily scolded.

"There are more of you?" I asked, directing the question at no one in particular.

"Yeah. Some on duty, and _Quil's_ inside _sleeping_." Paul mused, twitching his eyebrows up and down, then looked at me expectantly as if he had asked me a question.

I was confused as to why he kept his eyes on me, seeming to wait for a response.

"That's…nice." I responded lamely.

I noted that Paul was the one who had punched Embry earlier, for no apparent reason. I also noted that Paul seemed like kind of an–

_"Idiot_."

Sam had walked behind him, and slapped the backside of his head while making this remark.

Paul just smiled, releasing me from his gaze and followed into the house behind the others.

* * *

**_AN:_**_ He's coming. Don't fret._


	5. Chapter 5

The house was small, but you couldn't call it claustrophobic by any measure, because it had such a warm and inviting feel to it. Even as the bodies piled onto the couches and across the floor, I wasn't uncomfortable being in such close proximities to everyone. It was cozy.

There weren't many walls dividing the house either. The kitchen, lounge and dining areas seemed to melt into each other, forming one big common room. There was a small hallway to the side, where the bedrooms and bathroom were, I assumed.

"Come sit here, Claire!" Seth called to me, patting the small space on the couch between himself and Embry.

I sat between them and was suddenly feeling very tiny.

_What are they feeding you people?_

Everyone was so _big_. Or maybe, it was just an optical illusion because the house was so small.

The boys went about casually, turning on the T.V and raiding the kitchen as if it were their own home. I was grateful that no one seemed to be treating me like an outsider; I already felt comfortable just blending in with the atmosphere.

"Are you hungry, Claire?" Emily called from her bedroom, where I couldn't see her, "Because there's spaghetti on the stove if you are."

"No, there isn't!" Embry chirped teasingly, tilting his head up toward the direction of her room.

"What do you mean? I cooked it this afternoon, just before I left!" her voice called back.

He tilted his head up again.

"Ate it!"

"Oh, well then there should be some leftover pizza slices from–"

"Ate those too!"

He looked very proud.

"_Fine_. Then she can just have the muffins I baked for tomorrows breakfast."

The room fell silent and everyone looked at Jacob and Jared by the open fridge; both now frozen in motion with panicked eyes, already putting the muffins in their mouths.

"Uh–" Jared let out; his voice muffled.

Emily walked back into the room, probably sensing meaning from the suddenly quiet atmosphere. She was looking at the two culprits, an unimpressed expression on her face. Jacob had pushed the rest of his muffin into his mouth by now, and his cheeks were puffed out as he tried to speak.

"What?" he asked, almost incomprehensible.

I giggled.

She sighed.

"It's okay Emily, I'm not really hungry," I told her, "Just a bit tired."

And I was. It was getting exhausting trying to keep up with all the banter and conversations going on in the house.

"Oh, well I've had Sam put your stuff in your room already. It's the room next to the bathroom."

"Oh, okay. Thanks, Emily."

I was pleasantly surprised to hear I had been given my own room, I figured I'd be sleeping on the couch.

"I'm going to bed now. I'll see you in the morning, Claire."

She bent over the back of the couch and kissed the top of my hair, with Sam following behind her back to their room.

"I'm beat," Paul announced a few minutes later.

"Same. You wanna take off soon?" Jacob offered.

They all agreed it was getting late, and began to file out. Jacob was the last to leave, but before he was out the door, he turned back to me.

"By the way, if you hear people coming in and out of the house tonight, don't freak out, okay? _Stay put_. It's just us changing shifts."

"Hm?" I asked, confused.

"Yeah, well– Quil did the late-afternoon shift today, so he'll be clonked out for the next four or five hours. Then he'll take over my shift and I'll come back here to crash."

"Oh."

I was confused as to why they slept between shifts at Emily and Sam's place, but had enough new information for one day to even bother asking.

"Okay. Well, have fun at work."

He smiled. "Night, Bear."

I rolled my eyes as he continued out the door; unappreciative of the nickname he seemed to have permanently stamped me with. I slouched back on to the couch, and managed to fall asleep in a half sitting position with the T.V still on.

The discomfort of my awkward position woke me up a couple of hours later, and I peeled myself off the couch then turned off the T.V. I made my way to the hallway, figuring I'd grab my toiletries from my room, and then quickly wash my face and brush my teeth before going to bed.

I opened the door to my room and flicked on the light, only to find there was someone in the bed already.

_Woops, wrong room._

He was sleeping on his side – bare back faced to me.

_Quil_, I assumed.

I quickly flicked the light back off and then reached back in – about to pull the door closed – when I heard a sudden in-take of breath coming from inside the room. I squinted into the darkness, unable to make out any shapes in the pitch black. Instead, I just listened for a moment to see if he'd awoken. When nothing followed, I let out a little giggle realizing this giant man was probably in the middle of a nightmare. I quietly pulled the door closed, turning back towards the _other_ room next to the bathroom. Apparently, there were two.

"_Claire?_"

I stopped.

_Not now. Pleeaase not now, _I mentally begged the voice in my head. _Pleease don't make me go crazy here._

I waited unmoving for the voice to return. After a minute, I practically ran the short distance into my room, not wanting to be alone in the hallway any longer.

I climbed into the bed and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling…waiting.

"Claire?"

_Oh no._

I pulled the covers over my head and squeezed my eyes shut, trying somehow to hide from the non-existent being.

Emily must have heard my frantic footsteps earlier, because I heard my door slowly creek open. She had probably come to check on me.

_No need to worry her._

I remained in the same position under the covers, exaggerating a regular breathing pattern. Slowly, I felt the covers being pulled back off me, but I still couldn't see her in the dark.

A second later the light was flicked on, and I froze.

Every muscle in my body locked into place as I was staring into the face of my visitor. My heart seemed to jump into my throat _and_ stomach, looking into his eyes that were wide in shock, probably mirroring my own. He moved cautiously to sit on the bed, as I slowly began to sit up. In that moment, it seemed as though time slowed down and the silence got quieter – if that's even possible. It took another second for my brain to register that I should probably say something.

"It's– you," I almost whispered.

His forehead creased in confusion.

"You know who I am?" he asked.

My mouth fell open at the sound of his voice.

His voice. _The voice._ The boy from my dreams.

They were the same.

I grimaced a little at this epiphany; I probably should have considered that at one point over the years.

"Claire?" he continued, when I didn't speak, still lost in thought.

"You're my…"

He seemed to have been holding his breath, waiting for me to continue.

"I'm your…?" he urged, desperately.

I leaned back a little in embarrassment.

What _was _he to me? Hallucination? Guardian angel?

_Hang on a second._

"You know who _I _am?" I blurted out, confused.

Now_ he_ leaned back.

"You're…Claire," he replied, cautiously.

"And you're?"

"Quil."

"Quil," I repeated, testing my brain for recognition. "_Oh._ And you were asleep, there in the other room?" I continued.

He seemed confused by my question.

"Yes."

"And you called my name from in there, after I closed the door?"

"Yes?"

_"Oh!" _

That at least explained the voice I'd heard in the hallway.

His forehead creased again, then he let out a frustrated laugh while speaking.

"Claire, how is that even important right now?" he asked laughing, then his face became serious. "How is this– how are you _here?_"

"I don't know!" I answered. _"Are you real?_" I asked, reaching out to touch him.

He let a frustrated laugh out again. "What do you mean? How do you even know who I am? Do you remember me?"

We both jolted a little as my hand came into contact with his bare chest. I pulled it back quickly, setting it back down in my lap.

_Okay, he's real._

"I-I thought I made you up," I stammered, looking down in embarrassment.

"What?"

His head sank down to level with mine, as he tried to keep eye contact with me.

_Did he just ask if I remembered him? Why does everyone here seem to know me already?_

"Have we met before?" I asked, looking back to him, surprised to find our faces very close together now.

He looked hesitant, before he nodded.

"In real life?"

"Yeah, we have. When you were…younger," he answered, and then seemed perplexed by my odd choice of words. "Wait, what did you mean in real life? How else could we have met?"

I didn't answer. I looked down again, realizing that he obviously hadn't been having hallucinations like me, and I was still the only crazy one in the room. He hadn't been hearing _my_ voice or seeing _me_ in his dreams. He recognized me from when I was younger. I ignored his question, and answered his previous ones.

"My dad sent me here to visit Emily. I got here earlier tonight, but I think you were already asleep."

"Did Emily know you were coming?" he asked.

I nodded. His expression grew surprised as I continued.

"I called her yesterday, and her and Jacob came and got me from Seattle."

_"Jake_ did?" He seemed even more shocked at this.

I nodded, a little afraid I was somehow making him angry.

"Jacob?" he repeated, to which I once again nodded.

He seemed to be lost in thought now; his face looked distant in concentration.

"Are you angry?" I asked, cautiously.

"No. Just– confused."

_That makes two of us._

I tried to clarify the situation, to wrap my head around what I knew for now.

"So, I've been to La Push before?" I asked.

"Yes," he confirmed, nodding once.

"And how old was I?"

"You were three when you left." He looked a little uncomfortable at this.

"When I left?" I asked, stunned, "How old was I when I got here?"

"You were born in the next town," he responded automatically.

My mouth fell open, as I realized I had been lied to my whole life.

_What? How? Why? Where?_

Multiple questions began to explode in my mind, overlapping one another as my thoughts collided.

_"What _is going _on_?" I almost yelled at the imaginary boy from my dreams.

"That's what I wanna know," he agreed, looking resigned.

The door flung open again, and Jacob stopped frozen in the doorway at the sight of us, both now staring at him before he spoke.

"_C__rap_."


	6. Chapter 6

_"You knew?_" Quil asked Jacob in disbelief.

"Sort of," he replied sheepishly, wincing a little in anticipation of Quil's reaction.

"What do you mean _sort of_? She told me you were the one who picked her up!"

"Okay. Maybe a little bit but–"

"–And you didn't tell me?"

"Tell you what?" I interrupted meekly, feeling left out.

Quil turned to look at me, his face looking pained.

His words came out in a desperate cry as he turned back to Jacob.

_"How _could you not _tell me?"_

Jacob rushed through his words.

"We didn't know how long she was planning to stay. Last time she left– well– you remember. No one wanted to see you go through that again."

Quil looked so _sad._

It made _me _upset, even though I didn't know what was happening. I had a sudden urge to comfort him, but I didn't know if it was appropriate.

"Go through what?" I asked Quil again, sadness visible in my tone.

He looked back at me, the same emotion on his face.

Again, my question went unanswered and he looked back to Jacob.

"No one? No one out of how many people? Who else even knows she's here?" he asked.

"Just me and Emily," Jacob responded automatically.

I flinched and Quil noticed.

Jacob hesitated for a moment, and then spoke again.

"And Sam and Embry. And Jared…Maybe Paul," he admitted.

Quil's jaw dropped.

A second passed before Jacob finished.

"And…Seth," he let out finally, looking at the floor.

Quil's head was shaking; his eyes closed.

I shot glances between them, going back and forth repeatedly, trying to understand the situation.

"That's why I patrolled with Leah, Collin and Brady?" Quil asked, though it came out as more of a statement.

Jacob nodded.

I mentally paused at this. If they were all security-patrollers, then did that mean one of them was a big giant man named _Leah?_

_What is with this place?_

_"What is going on?_" I asked Jacob a little louder now.

They both looked at each other and grimaced, and then Jacob nodded as if encouraging Quil to talk.

Quil's eyes closed as he took in a breath, then he turned to me. "_Claire_," he began, "You.. have a history here that you probably don't remember."

_I'll say._

"Okay…" I responded, a little scared.

"Well, _we _have a history you don't remember," he amended.

I looked back to Jacob, to read on his expression whether this was a joke or not.

His face was serious.

_Wait. If the voice is real, and if dream-Quil is real, then…_

"Is this somehow linked with the wolf?" I let out, without thinking it through properly.

They both gasped, and Quil's eyes widened.

_"What?_" he asked, stunned.

I was taken back by both of their reactions. I didn't know if they were mad at this, so I quickly sidestepped.

"Um, I think I remember seeing a wolf– when I was here," I lied.

They looked at each other, both with anguished expressions. Quil's eyes were closed again, taking in another deep breath. He looked into my eyes, trapping me in his gaze.

"I'll explain _everything_, Claire. _I promise_."

I nodded, surprised to realize I believed him completely. He took my hand into his, and my urge to comfort him finally overcame me. I reflexively moved our hands to his chest, over his heart. Again, time slowed and the silence seemed quieter.

…Until Jacob spoke.

"Um, actually, Quil," he interrupted, though nor Quil or I looked at him, while he continued to mumble on. "Can you explain.. later because.. technically.. you're supposed to be patrolling now.. and.. I haven't really slept.. in like–"

He stopped when Quil and I both shot glances at him.

"But.. I'm not really _that_ tired," he back-peddled.

A moment passed, and I turned back to Quil, who was still watching Jacob. I wasn't sure what we were waiting for.

"A little privacy, Jake?" Quil asked.

"Oh. Right," Jacob let out, then quickly made his way out of the room.

Quil looked back to me and I could see internal struggle on his face. He dropped our hands from his chest, and it took him a moment to begin.

"I think maybe.. you should sleep, and we can talk in the morning," he told me, looking down at my legs that were still covered in blanket. "You've had.. a lot, for one day."

_What? No!_

"I think maybe.. I shouldn't," was all I could come out with, trying to match his polite tone.

He smiled.

"What?" I asked, intrigued by his sudden change in mood.

"You've always been stubborn."

I considered this, and decided to delve straight into it. If he knew me so well, I wanted to know how.

_"How_ exactly do you know me?"

His smile faded, and a concerned look surfaced.

"I met you when you were two," he answered, sidestepping my question.

_"Okay_. And _how_ did you meet me then?"

He really seemed to think his answer through, before coming out with it.

"Your family came to visit Emily."

"And I lived in the next town?"

"Yes."

"And you lived here?"

"Yes."

"So, you knew me for one year?"

"Yes."

"And why did I leave?"

He winced, halting the flow of our conversation.

"Your.. mom wanted to move."

_My mom? My mom!_

_The secrecy._

I'd almost forgotten the whole reason I was here was to figure out Mom's secret. And now it was somehow actually linked to my own twisted secrets? So maybe she _did_ know I was crazy? Of course, she probably just chose to sweep this information under the rug.

Under the nice, expensive rug.

I was brought back to the morning in the kitchen, and the conversation with my dad. Who recognized Quil in the painting. Who sent me here. Who, in a way, subliminally told me to come here and find out the truth for myself?

_Oh._

"My parents know something," I processed aloud, "About this place– about you?"

He swallowed and nodded slowly, as if he were scared I would piece any more information together.

"And…they didn't like it," I concluded.

I was trying to get what I could from him, without giving anything away about the hallucinations. If I could figure it out myself, there would be no need to go on worrying anyone about my mental health.

He looked away from me now, but I could still see his pained expression_._

"Does this make you sad?" I asked, again feeling sad just by watching _him_ ache.

"It's just a little painful…to relive the memory. That's all," he told me.

"But, I was two?" I pointed out, "How much can you even remember? How old were _you?_"

He sighed.

"What?" I asked, surprised with his hesitance to answer something so simple.

"I just.. don't know how to explain all this. It's one thing.. to grow up knowing your whole life about the.. stories, but to find out when you're eighteen.. once you think you know how the world works.. it's _weird_."

I contemplated this for a second.

_Weird._

_He _thinks _his _truth is weird.

Meanwhile, _I'm_ the one dreaming about him every night, and hallucinating his voice, and hanging pictures of him up in my room like some stalker.

Who stalked her imaginary friend.

"I think I can handle it," I told him honestly.

His expression was a little amused at this, and he continued.

"Okay… What exactly do you remember about the wolves?"

My eyebrows creased a little. I lied earlier, or rather left out the part about seeing the wolf in my dream. And usually to get out of a lie, you have to tell another lie. And I didn't want to waste time doing that.

"Claire?"

"Um. Well, I don't exactly _remember_."

"But you said–"

"I…lied," I admitted.

"But how–" he paused, and seemed to change his train of thought, _"Do you know something_?"

"I _think_ so," I told him, "I _think_ I know bits and pieces, but don't really know how they fit together."

_There_, I thought. _That sounded somewhat sane_, while still tiptoeing around the delusionary truth.

He sighed.

"Claire, you're gonna have to tell me _everything_ you know. So I can help you understand."

_Aw, man._

"Okay, fine. And _you_ have to tell _me_ everything _you_ know," I challenged, even though he already said he would. I just didn't like the feeling of surrendering without getting something in return.

_Huh. I guess he's right. I am stubborn._

He smiled at this, and I knew he was thinking the same thing.


	7. Chapter 7

We sat in silence for a moment, perhaps both mentally bracing ourselves for what we were each about to confess. I didn't want to be the first to speak. Call it stubbornness if you will, but all _he_ was going to tell _me_ was a story about our past. Me, admitting my hallucinations was on a whole other level.

"The sun's coming out," he said, looking out the window.

I was surprised at this. I must have been asleep on that couch longer than I thought.

"Mm," I mused, still waiting for him to continue.

"Do you want to go outside to talk?" he asked, "I don't want to wake Emily and Sam," he stated, once again looking down at me, still in a sitting position half covered in blankets.

I was embarrassed to realize I would have just had the most consequential conversation of my life, with me wrapped in a bunny-rabbit quilt cover, and him half naked in cut-off shorts.

"Yeah, okay." I agreed.

He stood up now, and walked to the door.

"I'll– wait for you outside," he told me.

I climbed out of the bed and leaned over to put my shoes back on. I was glad now that I was too freaked out earlier to bother changing into pyjamas.

That could have been really awkward.

I met him at the front door, and he now had on a shirt and shoes, along with his cut-off shorts that seemed to be the fashion around here. I was amused to find that he was wearing worn-down old black Converses that matched my own worn-down old white Converses.

_Well isn't that cute_, I remarked to myself. _We match._

He must have realized too, because he was smiling to himself and rolling his eyes at the trivial discovery that I had found interesting.

He pointed out a grassy area that was on the lower foot of the small hill the house sat on. It wasn't too steep to walk down, but there were a few rocky areas I would have struggled to walk over. The few times I got to these, I paused looking down at them in concentration – mentally calculating how I would approach the tricky angles – but would suddenly find myself pressed against his side and carefully set back on my feet a few seconds later. Every time he touched me, my heart would speed up a little and I would feel the warmth of his body almost ingrained into mine, even after I was set back down. He was so _warm_. And this place was so cold.

We reached the grassy patch where we both sat down.

"Okay," I finally spoke. "Fire away."

"Well, why don't you tell me what you think you know first," he offered.

"_Or_.. why don't _you_ tell _me_ what you _do_ know, and if it's familiar to me, then I'll let you know and you can explain," I countered.

_After all, _'_I hear voices,' isn't exactly the greatest conversation starter._

He rolled his eyes, smiling. "Fine. So, you know that all of us up here in La Push, belong to a tribe right?"

_No, but okay._

"Right," I answered, a second too late.

"You didn't know that did you?" he asked, skeptical.

"Not really," I admitted.

He smiled again, and continued. "Okay, so we belong to a tribe called the Quileute tribe."

"Okay."

"And like any tribe, we have legends," he informed.

I nodded.

He paused a second.

"You following?" he asked, patronizingly sarcastic.

I rolled my eyes. "Go on, Quil."

"Okay, just checking," he teased, before continuing. "So legends of our tribe say that our people descended from wolves."

"Wolves," I repeated, for brain processing measure.

He nodded, and continued on.

"Well actually, legend has it, _men_ of the tribe were able to _transform_ into wolves, to protect the people of our land."

I didn't really see how this was relevant to _our_ story—between he and I—but was intrigued for him to continue, as this could well be the answer to the wolf in my dreams.

"Okay."

He looked uncomfortable now, but seemed as though he was trying to find the courage to continue. He took a deep breath, before going on.

"So…those legends turned out to be true, Claire."

"_What?_"

"The men of our tribe really _could_ turn into wolves to protect the land. My great-grandfather was one of the original ones."

"You great-grandfather was a wolf?" I asked, immediately imagining the wolf from my dreams.

_Okay, so I've been dreaming about Quil's great-grandfather?_

"Yes… but," he stammered, "There's more."

I nodded for him to continue.

"The legends, they still apply today. The people of our land still need protection. So the wolves are still…_around_."

"So your great-grandfather is still around?" I asked, amazed, "_Wow._ How old would he be now? That's like–"

"Wait, Claire," he interrupted, laughing now. "My great-grandfather is no longer alive…but the wolf-gene, or what ever you want to call it, still is."

_The wolf gene. Still is._

"Wait," I contemplated aloud, "So that means…that _you_ have the wolf gene?"

He nodded, and waited for me to continue to put the rest together.

"So then you can run really fast or something?"

He looked hopeful, and then sunk his head at my last question.

"The gene doesn't…_weaken…between generations."_

_Huh?_

"So what then? You can transform into a wolf?" I asked, skeptical.

I said it before I thought it. And once I heard myself say it out loud, my eyes widened, realizing that was exactly what he was trying to tell me.

_The wolf._

_The voice. The boy._

They were _all_ the same.

All of them were _Quil_.

He still hadn't answered; he just sat waiting for the information to sink into my brain.

_"You're a wolf_," I almost whispered, confirming it more to myself.

He nodded.

And I knew it was true. Ironically enough, the unusualness of the situation was actually helping me make _sense_ of my life.

"Tell me more," I asked him quietly, no longer finding any humor or amusement in the conversation.

He looked at me, concerned. His eyes were almost apologetic, as though he thought he was breaking me down with this information.

"So…when you become a wolf–" he started, but I interceded.

"When did _you_ become a wolf?"

"When I was sixteen."

I nodded, accepting this, until he continued.

"Which is when I met you."

I shot my eyes back up to him, completely bewildered.

_If I'm eighteen now, then… __What?_

"Wait, I'll explain. Just listen," he told me.

I nodded again, apparently having nothing to contribute any longer, as he seemed to have an answer for everything.

"When you become a wolf, there are a lot of… _things…_ that come with it."

He stopped to check that I was still listening before he continued.

"We don't age," he said, simply.

You'd think I'd be over the element of surprise he kept throwing at me, but my mouth still dropped open at this.

"Well we do, eventually. When we stop transforming into wolves."

"So, when you met me when I was two, you were like this?" I asked, waving my hand in the direction of his body.

"Pretty much," he answered.

I didn't bother to keep asking, figuring I would just be slowing us down if I kept doubting everything he was telling me.

"And then, there's this thing called _imprinting."_

He waited for me to react, but I didn't know what it meant, so I just sat waiting for him to elaborate.

"Sometimes, after a person turns into a wolf, they can _imprint_ on someone."

He watched me again, but I still hadn't reacted.

"So… imprinting is kind of like, when your centre of gravity moves."

My forehead creased in confusion. He wasn't getting any clearer as he went on.

"It happens the first time you see them, after you've changed. You emotionally… _gravitate _towards them, and it's beyond your control."

It was starting to make sense now, but I still didn't see how it applied.

"Do you understand where I'm going with this?" he asked, cautiously.

"I think I get what it _means_," I clarified.

"So, when I was sixteen, and turned into a wolf…" his tone was still cautious and he spoke slowly, "I met you."

There was heavy implication in his voice, and he waited for me to comprehend.

_Oh._

"You… _imprinted_ on me?" I guessed.

"Yes."

He seemed to brace himself for my reaction. He looked pained and worried and anxious, all at the same time. I didn't want to show him I was freaked out – which I truly wasn't – so I continued.

"Okay. So what happens after that? After someone imprints?"

I didn't want apply the situation specifically to us, as it was obvious that something had gone wrong in our case.

"You're just supposed to be in each others' lives," he said, and then felt the urge to emphasize his point, continuing by referring to _us_. "I'm _supposed _to be part of your life, Claire."

His face became sad again, which was probably similar to my own.

"Our lives… they're predestined. Some higher… _being… _already decided we were supposed to be part of each others' lives, before we met."

I felt myself breathing heavier at the realization that somehow, my fate had been lost without me even knowing about it.

"But somehow, we managed to mess up our fate," he finished, almost exactly repeating my own thoughts.

_"How did we do that?_" I asked, desperately, as though the information was so vital we could somehow salvage the lost time.

"Your…_ mom _didn't really approve," he answered, uncomfortably. "Only imprints are supposed to know about the wolves existence… so I couldn't really explain to her …and she thought…"

He didn't continue, but he didn't have to. In that moment, multiple switches went off in my head. My mom's secrecy made sense now.

Quil imprinted on me when I was two. He wanted, or _needed _to be part of my life. My mom freaked because he was a giant sixteen year old. She bailed on La Push, and never looked back.

"What about my dad?" I couldn't help but ask.

"He seemed… more understanding. I can't be sure, but there was something about him. I always thought maybe he knew. He knew about the wolves… he knew about imprinting. He never worried about you being alone with me. Even though to your parents, I was just supposed to be a _co-worker_ of Sam's."

_"He knew you imprinted on me?_" I asked, surprised.

"I never knew for sure. But he was always very gracious towards me, so I can only guess he must have known– heard old legends from around the area."

_Wow._

We were now both staring off into different directions. I had just had a massive bomb dropped on me, and he was reliving the pain of our loss. He seemed to have forgotten about asking me what I knew, and I was relieved at that, as it was gradually making sense without having to confess.

He was supposed to be part of my life.

_But as what?_

"How were you supposed to be part of my life?" I asked.

He thought before responding. "I was just supposed to be there for you, how ever you needed me."

"So we were destined to be friends?"

His eyes tightened a little. "It's… a bit more… _absolute_, than that."

"What do you mean?"

He seemed to really have a hard time answering my questions.

"Well, if we had met when you were a baby, I would have taken a sort of father figure role. Then later on, I would be like your protective older brother…"

It seemed as though he wanted to continue, but he let that sink in for me first.

I processed it all, trying to see the logic.

"But I'm eighteen now," I thought aloud.

"Yes,"

"Technically, I'm an adult."

"And?"

"So, I wouldn't really _need_ a protective older brother anymore?"

He didn't say anything, but his expression lightened a little.

"So, what would that have made you now?" I pressed.

"Just… whatever you needed me for, Claire."

It was as if he knew, but wanted me to figure it out myself.

_What else am I supposed to need?_

I have a father. I don't need a brother. A crazy drunk uncle?

_Ooh, what about…_

"Like a butler?" I blurted out, excited now.

_"Aw, Claire!"_

I frowned.

"Well, I don't know! You're the wolf, you tell _me._"

His expression changed. He looked resigned.

"It doesn't matter now, anyway–" he said, the visible ache returning.

I didn't know if admitting the delusions now would change anything, but the urge to comfort him was still there.

_Tell him! Tell him now! _I mentally shouted at myself.

The words were there, but they died before they made it out.

"Our fate changed," he stated, closing the conversation.


	8. Chapter 8

We sat quietly for a long time after that. I ran everything through my brain again and again, trying to fit it all together.

Quil was the voice. And the boy. And the wolf.

_How did the forest and the beach tie into it all?_

It was obvious he had closed the conversation earlier, but my curiosity got the better of me and I finally broke the silence.

"Did we ever go to the beach together?" I asked.

He smiled a little, though he didn't really look happy.

"Yeah, I used to take you all the time. You loved it." His tone was sad still. "Why?"

"Nothing. I– think I remember," I answered.

He just nodded.

"And what about the forest? Did you take me there too?"

He was shocked at this. "_No._ Never," he answered, curiously.

"Oh. Okay. I must have mixed it up with something else," I lied.

We sunk back into silence again. I'm not sure how much longer we sat there, but I knew Emily had awoken now, because I saw the curtains in the front window pull open before she called out.

"Claire? Are you out there? Breakfast is ready!"

He started to get up at this, and held his hand out to help me up. We walked back in silence all the way back to the house.

I entered the kitchen just as Emily's head popped out from behind the fridge door.

"Oh, Claire I didn't hear you come–" She ceased, when she saw who followed behind me.

_"Oh_," she let out, "I see you've met…Quil," she said, though she was looking at him and not me.

I didn't turn to see his reaction, but I'm pretty sure I could guess that he was looking at her with some sort of pointed accusation, or maybe the aching pained face that had equally grown to hurt me. I decided to save us all the meaningful exchange of facial expressions.

"_I know_. He told me."

She looked back to me with careful eyes. After a second of taking in my expression, there was no doubt she understood. She nodded silently, and then began to speak

"Well, if there's anything you want to talk about or ask about, you can talk to anyone, okay? I know it's…a lot," she offered.

I nodded, accepting this. In truth, I was fine. I felt a bit overwhelmed, but I was mostly concerned for Quil. He seemed really _down_.

The pensive silence was broken by the rumbling of approaching voices. As soon as we all turned around, Embry, Jared and Paul were marching in to take their seats at the table, still in the middle of conversation – not bothering to take notice of the ongoing awkward exchange. Emily cleared her throat and motioned to continue preparing breakfast. Silence fell, as the three boys' heads turned in our direction. Jared and Embry looked hesitant, just waiting for someone to say something. Paul…was beaming. He held his face in a manner as if anticipating one of us about to break out in song and dance.

"_She knows,_" Quil said flatly.

Jared and Embry gasped.

"Well, about time!" Paul let out, relieved.

At first I was a little taken back, but then I couldn't help but at smile at his unexpected reaction. This eased me a little, and I finally moved to take a seat at the table ready to eat breakfast. Quil followed my lead, rolling his eyes at Paul and sat down across from me. We continued to go about getting ready for breakfast, loading up our plates.

"So, there are no more secrets then?" Jared enquired with his mouth half full.

"Nope," Quil answered.

My eyes tightened the slightest bit, as I knew this wasn't true. Though none of the boys seemed to notice, I'm sure it was not lost on Emily who had surreptitiously been watching me throughout the whole breakfast.

"Well that's good then," Embry added, "Because we got a good one yesterday and I don't wanna have to censor!"

Quil's eyes became urgent.

"A good what?" I asked, meekly.

Everyone stopped and looked at me.

"I…haven't told her…_that_ part yet," Quil said, uneasily.

_There's more?_

Everyone seemed to be deep in concentration, perhaps sifting through their brains for the proper way to tell me what ever they were about to say. Except Paul, who was still chewing and swinging his legs under the table.

"We kill vampires," he stated casually, in between bites of his breakfast.

Everyone else locked into place, anticipating my reaction.

_Vampires…_

To be honest, I'd had so much information dumped on me already that I would have had a hard time _not_ believing anything they told me now.

I remembered Jacob in the car yesterday, when he picked me up.

_'We rotate shifts, taking turns to hunt down nomadic vampires,' _he had said.

I rolled my eyes at the realization he had been telling the truth, and probably got a kick out of the inside joke that I was all too unaware of at the time.

_Hilarious, Jacob._

I was still yet to even flinch while lost in thought, and I assumed they were all just waiting for me to run away screaming.

"Okay," I shrugged, and continued to eat.

I heard multiple breaths being let out all around me, and Embry picked up where he left off to describe in detail, the 'vampire' he took down by himself last night.

"_So,_" Jared began when Embry had finished, "You moving out here now, Claire Bear?"

I hadn't realized he was talking to me until everyone else's face turned in my direction.

Quil looked anxious and uncomfortable as they all waited for my response.

"Oh…um," I stopped when I realized I had no idea what to say.

"No," Quil answered for me, "She's not. She's going back to school in Seattle."

The three boys looked confused at this, Quil looked emotionless now. Somehow this was worse than seeing him in pain. He looked _empty._

"I–" I tried to begin, but still had nothing to say.

Emily seemed to sense the tension and tried to ease it.

"Well, we'll just see. She still has a couple of weeks before she starts. Maybe you could stay longer here before school?" she asked me.

"Yeah, of course. I'd like that," I assured, looking at Quil.

I was confused now. Jared's question had caught me off guard. Is that what I was supposed to do? Were Quil and I supposed to pick up where we left off all those years ago, now that I was here? Was I supposed to just leave Seattle, and set down my roots here in La Push? So he could be apart of my life, like he was supposed to?

Emily interrupted my confusing thoughts that must have been showing on my face when she spoke again.

"Claire, I noticed you didn't bring much with you here. Maybe I could drive you back to Seattle later today and we could pick up some more of your clothes, since you're planning to stay longer?" she offered.

She was right. I hadn't packed much and I really did underestimate the weather here. I could really use some more warm clothing. But something inside me didn't want to leave. Even if it was just to get my stuff and come back, I didn't want to be away from Quil. It felt as though we still had so much to talk about and I wasn't ready to be separated from him yet. He seemed to be feeling the same way I was. I could see his face grow even _emptier_ after she said this.

"Actually," I mused, talking to him now, "Since _you're_ supposed to be _what ever I need you to be_, I think I want you to be my _chauffer_ today," I requested, smugly.

Everyone was smiling now; it even lifted _his_ mood a little.

"Okay," he answered, almost smiling.

It wasn't a complete smile by any measure, but it was the most hopeful I'd seen him since our talk this morning.

The boys continued to tell me their hero stories about vampires and epic battles over the years, but I could still see Emily smiling to herself as she moved around the kitchen.


	9. Chapter 9

We finished up with breakfast, and the boys had bullied Quil into 'going on duty,' because he had missed his shift last night. He told me he would only be gone for a couple of hours, and though it was only a temporary separation where he would be near by, it still stung a little. I sucked it up though, and told him I would just spend the time catching up on sleep and getting ready for the trip to Seattle, later today. I guessed he would probably need the time apart to pull himself together.

A couple of hours ago, it felt as though everything was starting to make sense. Everything had been explained and I was no longer in the dark. But all that had happened really, was my past had been explained. What did that all mean for the future? Something was still upsetting Quil. He had told them I was going back to live in Seattle, without letting me answer. Did that mean he didn't want me to stay? Was he scared that I would decide to stay and then leave again?

In truth, I did want to stay. For him. If I was his imprint, he deserved for me to be here. But my logical side knew I couldn't just abandon my life as I knew it, to just live here with him. Walk away from the school I had worked so hard for over the years; the only thing I truly cared about, until I got here.

I laid in my bed, staring at the ceiling. The familiar inability to fall asleep resurfaced as my mind was flooded with all my thoughts.

Now that I knew about imprinting, I could finally put a name to the emotional gravitation between us. I understood why when he touched me, my heart went erratic. And why I hurt when he hurt. And why, even though I had really just met him, I felt like I could trust him.

I _wanted _him in my life.

Every fiber of my emotional being told me that. Until now, I'd never based any decisions on my emotions. I'd always been more logical and practical. Until now, I had never felt so _emotional_ about anything before. I thought that emotional part of my genetic make-up was missing. But now, I could really feel it. I could feel the hurt and the need and the pull. And I didn't want to lose it.

I wouldn't leave school, but I wouldn't leave Quil. I would go back to Seattle, and come back to La Push as much as I could. Quil would never have to worry about me leaving again.

This resolution sent a calm through my mind. Quil would no longer have to hurt anymore. I would be here. I had decided, and now it was only a matter of telling him this, so his pain could be eased too.

The resolve washed through me, and I drifted off to sleep.

--

I awoke hours later, and by this time Quil and the others had returned from…work. They were all seated around the table and on the couches.

So much had changed between now and when I'd seen them last night, but they all looked the same carrying on like the pack they were.

"Where's Jacob?" I asked, when I noticed he seemed to be missing.

"Sleeping," Seth answered.

"Yeah, he didn't _feel_ like working today," Paul complained.

"What, he called in sick?" I asked sarcastically.

"Nope. He doesn't have to. He's the boss."

I didn't know if this was just Seth stretching out the joke or not, but either way, I didn't get it.

"Wolves have a boss?"

"Alpha," Embry corrected, "Jake's our Alpha. What he says goes."

"I see." I guess that explained why Jacob had been the one to pick me up with Emily, and why he seemed to be so involved in everything that went on in the house.

"You ready to go, Claire?" Quil asked.

I rose from my seat as Emily tossed car keys to him and followed behind him to the red hatchback that must act as communal car around here. He held my door open for me, which I thought was quite chivalrous, but his face still showed no emotion.

We started the drive off quietly, and I could really see the beach now.

It was _definitely_ the beach from my dreams. The exact color of the sand, the rocks that lined the shore, even the color of the sky was the same backdrop as my deluded visions. It shook me a little.

I was yet to recognize the forest I'd walked through in my dreams. I could see forest areas in the distance here and there, but nothing that screamed out as obviously recognizable to me like the other figments of my imagination.

Quil began to ask me about my life and what I had been doing with myself for the past fifteen or so odd years. I talked about my family and school and my hobbies. He gradually began to smile a little, listening to me talk about my achievements and how my efforts over the years had paid off to get me into the school we were heading to now. I think this made him happy. He was happy to hear about the years he'd missed out on. I guessed that maybe he had always wondered what happened to me during our years apart, so I really tried to explain to him in detail, everything I had experienced.

Of course, I was yet to tell him about the hallucinations. It didn't seem relevant anymore. I had decided to stay in his life and so maybe no one would have to know that I had once considered myself a potentially crazy stalker.

After I'd finished describing the exact color of the walls of my bedroom back home, he sighed.

He was sad again.

"Quil, you don't have to be sad," I told him, "_I'm staying_."

He turned to look at me, which worried me a little as his eyes were off the road and he was driving really fast. Like Jacob did.

_Must be a wolf thing._

"No you're not," he told me flatly.

"I am. I'm not going to _move_ to La Push, but I'm going to come back as much as I can. I _want_ to. You don't have to be afraid I'm going to disappear again. I won't. I'm gonna do this imprint thing properly."

"That's not–" he began, but then stopped and looked back to the road.

"Not what?"

He was shaking his head before he continued.

"Claire, you don't _have _to do that. Can't you see?" he asked, eyes back to mine.

I didn't know what me meant, so I waited for him to go on.

"Can't see you see? You don't _need_ me," he said, emotion finally tainting his voice.

"We'd always believed imprints _needed _their partner. That somehow, if they were ever separated, it would go horribly wrong. That they wouldn't survive or something. But _you _turned out fine, your life continued on. You _lived_ your life. It's not as absolute as we had always thought. You don't _need _me, Claire."

His expression was _aching. _It was the most he had said the whole trip. He wasn't upset because he was afraid I would leave, like I had been thinking. He was hurt with the realization that I didn't need him; that I was able to survive without him.

I felt so bad for him believing this and worse because I had nothing to say in return. I was still alive and breathing, which was proof he wasn't essential to my survival. Like food or water.

Neither of us spoke for the rest of the drive.

* * *

**_AN: _**_Yeah, I know. She'll get it._


	10. Chapter 10

By the time we got to my campus, my mind was _busting_ for me to say something. I didn't know what was appropriate but I was desperate to fill the silence that kept growing between us; heavy with all the things we _wanted_ to say.

The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. I _hated_ what had happened. I hated that the choice had been taken away from me all those years ago. I hated that I had been kept in the dark—that I was _eighteen_, and I was only finding out now. I hated that Quil seemed so sure of his statement, and I still didn't know enough about it all to try and find an answer that could resolve any of it. Whether or not he was _supposed _to be part of my life, I should have at least had the _choice_ to stay or leave.

I hadn't had the choice then, but I had a choice now.

I turned to him in the doorway of my building, unable to hold back my words any longer.

"Quil, I _want_ to stay. I _want _you to be part of my life," I told him honestly, "Whether I can _survive _without you or not, I_ want_ to stay."

"No you don't," he answered flatly.

"_I do!_" I told him, angry now.

"I know you, Claire. Better than you think. I know you only want to stay to keep me happy. I know, but I won't let you."

"But I'm your imprint! And you're _supposed_ to do what I want you to do! And I want you to _let me stay_ _in your life!_" I yelled, apparently now coming out with stubbornness in a desperate effort to get my point across.

"It might not even work that way for us anymore. Our imprint is totally different to everyone else. I wasn't even there for you the way I was supposed to be," he said, emotionless, "I wasn't there, you were fine and I didn't protect you."

_Protect me?_

"Protect me?" I asked.

His brow furrowed a little before he explained.

"Your imprint is really what is supposed to drive you to protect the lands. I never had that drive, because you weren't _there_ to protect. I didn't feel the passion or desperation to protect La Push like the others did. I didn't even feel anger or hate towards the vampires when we took them down. I just did it on the command of Jacob. That part me is lost, I've been running on empty. I didn't protect you– you didn't even _need_ protecting. You don't need me, Claire."

At that moment, I understood.

Everything we had both suffered through, I completely understood.

He felt empty. He felt empty because _that_ part of him had left with _me _all those years ago. His passion and desperation to protect were across the country with _me_. He was _supposed_ to be part of my life in whatever way I needed him. And when we were apart, I _needed_ his comfort, even if in dream form and _needed_ his protection even if just in warning voices. Physical or not, he was always _there_. It all made sense now. When I left, I took it all with me.

"But you _were_ protecting me," I finally admitted, remembering his voice in my head.

He looked at me with doubtful eyes. "Don't bother trying to make me feel better, Claire. It is what it is," he told me.

It annoyed me that he still thought I was lying.

"No really_,_ you _were_," I reinforced.

"_Claire..._" he said in a tired tone, shaking his head.

"No, but—"

"_Stop __it_, Claire. Just—"

_"I saw you!_" I yelled, unable to contain myself, no longer caring about anything but getting my point across. _"Everywhere!_ I've been hearing your voice and seeing you in my dreams!_ Every_ _night!_ I've been dreaming of you _every_ night, since I can remember! I've seen you in wolf form; I've _been_ with you in my dreams! You _have _been there for me! You _have! _Sometimes, I would crave to see you, and sometimes I wished you would just leave me alone! But you've _always_ been there! _Always!_"

I was out of breath by the end, frustrated and emotional and on the verge of tears.

He looked surprised as I was confessing, but his expression gradually fell back into empty-mode.

_"Claire_, don't keep trying to make me feel better. Its–"

"–Ugh!" I yelled, _"I'm not lying!_ I–"

I stopped talking and paced off in the opposite direction. I knew how strong our pull was now. I knew well enough to be sure he would follow me, even without looking back to check. I walked through the hall, and stopped at my door.

"Claire, what are you–" he sounded resigned.

I opened the door and finally turned to face him. I grabbed a hold of his wrist, and channeled all my strength into dragging him the four short steps to the middle of my room.

_"LOOK!_" I yelled, one hand still around his wrist and the other pointing at the masterpiece creation of him, hanging on my wall.

He froze.

--

He didn't say anything.

For a long, _long_ time.

I released his arm, and just stood waiting.

His eyes didn't move from the painting.

He didn't even look like he was thinking.

I heard the person in the room next-door turn on their shower.

Then turn off their shower.

Then blow-dry their hair.

Quil had still not moved.

So I reached out to poke him.

_"Quil?_" I almost whispered.

His eyes were still on the painting when he spoke.

"It's…_me."_

I rolled my eyes.

_"I told you_."

"But…_how?_" he asked, finally looking at me.

"I wasn't lying when I said I see you everywhere," I explained, "You were always there and I never understood why. I thought I made you up. I thought I was hallucinating your voice. But it was there. You were really _there_. I thought I was mentally stalking you or something. But apparently, _you_ were stalking _me._"

He was amused now.

"I was stalking you?" He asked, a real smile on his face now.

"Your voice– I would hear it in my head. Sometimes when I wasn't paying attention, your voice would yell out to me…to save me from walking into oncoming traffic. Or–"

_"Really?_" he seemed excited by this.

I nodded, embarrassed.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I…thought I was going crazy," I admitted.

"So, you _do_ need me? I was protecting you…in a way?" he clarified.

I nodded; relieved he finally seemed to understand. And then I remembered something.

"_For the most part_," I told him.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Well, most of the time you would save me. But the first time I got here, to this room…you said _Hello_."

"_What?_"

"I don't know. I was on the phone calling–"

_Emily's house…_

_Ohhhhh._

"Claire?"

_"Ohhh!_" I nodded, mentally congratulating myself for actually figuring something out on my own. "_Okay._ I get it. Don't worry."

"Claire?"

_He'd_ been the one to answer the phone that first time I tried to call Emily. And I spent an hour curled up in the corner, because I thought I had been hallucinating again.

I was laughing now, and almost forgot he was still there waiting for me to explain.

"_Claire!_"

"Oh, sorry."

I explained my mistaken hallucination to him, and he joined in laughing with me.

I was so happy to see him actually smiling. A _real_ smile. And _laughing _even.

This was it. This was how it was supposed to be.

For once I didn't feel _socially awkward_. It felt right.

Quil was _supposed_ to be part of my life.

_…But as what?_

_

* * *

_

**_AN:_**_ Ha, couldn't make it that easy. Sorry I keep doing that to you people btw. The end is near, I promise._


	11. Chapter 11

He sat on my bed while I packed my stuff, egotistically admiring my painting that he had now taken off the wall and held in front of him.

"This is really good, Claire."

I rolled my eyes.

"You're just saying that because it's you," I countered, while rummaging through my piles for more clothes.

He thought for a moment before answering. "Well, either way…it's still really good."

He finally found a second to take his focus off the painting, and noticed my struggle to squish too many outfits into a too small bag.

"Oh, did you need a hand with that, Bear?"

I huffed out a sigh and stopped with the zipper. "Why do you all call me that? _Claire Bear?_"

He smiled. "Why? Don't you like it? You used to love it as a kid. You _made_ us call you Claire Bear."

My face scrunched a little at this. I realized now they all still saw me as a little kid. All of them. Including Quil. I felt my heart drop to my stomach.

I didn't say anything in reply. I just continued to fiddle with the zipper.

"Here," I heard him say, before his hand suddenly replaced mine and he began to pull the zip closed.

"No! I can do it. I'll do it. I'm _not_ a little kid," I snapped.

Obviously, I wasn't handling my latest revelation too well, but he didn't understand the implication behind my reaction. After all, he knew I was stubborn.

He continued to pace slowly around the room, looking at my other works and out the window, with a smile permanently fixed on his face. The same smile I had waited for all day and now it felt as though it was mocking me. He was smiling because little _Claire Bear_ was back in his life, and now he could really have his chance to physically be there to protect me like he was always meant to.

I didn't even know exactly what role I wanted Quil to play in my life. Everything had happened so fast that I hadn't really stopped to think about it. I had been so focused on just trying to find a solution to actually _keep_ him in my life, but didn't give much thought to what he was supposed to be. I wasn't sure who he was to me yet, but I knew whatever role he would take up in my life I wanted us to be _equal_. I didn't want him to see me as three-year-old _Claire Bear_ who left him behind all those years ago. I was eighteen now and he needed to see me that way.

Once I had managed to finally get everything I needed into my bag, I remained cross-legged on the floor, quickly taking a last look around the room to check if I'd forgotten anything.

"Done?" he asked.

"I think so."

I stood and then was about to bend over to pick the bag up, but he was already there and had slung it over his shoulder.

"I got it, Claire Bear," he smiled.

I shot him a glance.

"What?" he asked innocently.

I didn't bother answering. I would have insisted on carrying my own bag, but in truth, I probably wouldn't have been able to lift it by myself. I followed behind him to the car, still not saying anything. He was still beaming, probably too distracted drowning in relief and happiness to notice now _I_ was the one in the miserable mood.

We spent most of the ride home talking about La Push. He was really talking a lot now – and so animatedly. It was like he had come alive. He told me everything I had missed over the years, in detail. He told me about Sam and Emily, and how Sam used to be the alpha. And how wolf-by-wolf, each of the boys began to imprint, rendering the whole concept as expected – rather than a rare occurrence like they had initially thought. It didn't go unnoticed by me that every other one of the boys had ended up in a romantic relationship with their imprints. I wondered if this was supposed to be the same for us. But how would that be possible, if he still thought of me as a kid? I was sure that since people were just imprinting all over the place around him, he would know a lot more about it than I did, so I finally breached the subject.

"So, what happens now…that I'm back?" I asked.

"Well, you're back. That's what's important," he replied.

"Yeah, but…what are…_we_ now?"

"I'm just here how ever you need me, Claire. I told you that before."

My face scrunched in confusion as I looked back down at my palms. I could really tell he was being genuine in his words. It was annoying that this imprinting thing was so defined by what the _imprinted_ half wanted. It was up to me to decide how we played out the rest of our lives.

Quil had told me earlier that our fate had changed– that we had messed it up. I knew he was wrong now. Our fate had taken the exact course it was supposed to. Up until this point, _fate_ had led me through every decision to get here. _Fate_ had brought me my dreams, _fate_ had led my father to find my painting and send me to La Push. _Fate_ had made the only resolution to our problem to be me confessing my hallucinations. _Fate _had led me back to Quil.

But now it was up to me to decide what we were, and _fate_ wasn't giving me any leads. I wished Quil would just decide for us, or there would be _something_ telling me what to do. Some signal to lead me to the right decision for us both.

I didn't bring up the subject again the rest of the way home. I actually managed to fall asleep somewhere along the ride.

I awoke in my bed, tucked under my blanket. Quil must have carefully maneuvered me out of the car and carried me back into the house.

_Yep, definitely still Claire Bear._


	12. Chapter 12

I got out of bed and dawdled into the kitchen _slash_ lounge _slash_ dining area. It must have been some really early hour of the morning, but surprisingly, people were up. I guessed the nature of the boys' _job_ wouldn't make it abnormal for them to be up and around at all hours of the day. Emily was awake too. She was in the kitchen, whipping up some breakfast no doubt.

"Alright you kids," she warned, "Your shift is starting now, so you better head out soon, before Jacob comes in here to get you himself."

There were a few groans and sighs as the boys filed out the front door, one by one, none of whom were looking too excited. Quil quickly pecked my forehead before following out behind the rest of them happily. I popped myself up on to the kitchen bench, while Emily moved around her workspace.

"Oh hi, Claire. I didn't know you were awake," she greeted.

"Yeah, thought I'd come and say hello. We haven't really talked since I got here. I've been quite…occupied. Sorry."

She smiled. "No, it's fine. I understand. _Trust me_, I understand. It's a lot to deal with but I'm glad it all worked out. You made the right decision."

_The right decision._

Little did she know it wasn't me who made it. It was _fate_'s meddling in my business. Sending voices through my head, and assaulting my dreams with Quil had acted as a catalyst to get me to where I was now. There was never a decision. It was already decided.

"Thanks," I told her anyway, "I just hope Quil doesn't get too sick of driving back and forth to Seattle to see me."

She laughed at this before speaking. "Oh, he won't. I haven't seen that boy so _alive_ in a long time. He'll do it gladly. You've really brought him back to life, Claire. _Thank you._"

I contemplated for a second, before speaking again.

"_Emily?_"

"Yes, sweetie?"

She was still bent into the fridge as we spoke, so I couldn't see her initial reaction when I continued.

"What is supposed to happen with Quil and I now?"

I heard the jumbling of fridge items stop, and her head popped back up over the door.

"_Oh_," she responded, "Well…that's really up to you and Quil to decide."

I sighed. "But _Quil won't decide_. He wants _me_ to, and I don't know how I feel about just forcing him into something I'm not even sure of myself."

Her forehead creased a little, and she didn't say anything.

"Did Sam make you decide? Is that how you're together now? You chose this?" I asked, curiously.

"No…it was different for Sam and I. We never had to…_decide_ what role he would take up. I was already an adult when we met. There was never any…rearrangement of boundaries."

_Great._

"It's up to you and Quil. I'm sure you'll figure it out, Claire. One way or another, you'll see. There'll be some sort of sign."

I wanted to roll my eyes.

_A sign._

I had become so used to the idea of just putting clues together and finding my answer that way. I guess I'd been hoping for some cryptic, philosophical epiphany to overcome me again. But I guess _fate_ can only lead you so far, and at some point it has to take a holiday and let you do some of the work.

--

Daylight was slowly approaching and I went back to my room to lie on my bed. I'd really messed up my sleeping patterns since I got here.

After a few quiet and peaceful minutes, I was beginning to drift when I heard a tapping at my window that kindly scared the life out of me. I hadn't drawn the curtain open since I got here. It was thin enough to see whether it was night or day behind it, so I never really bothered to open or close it. Before I even reached it though, I could hear the window somehow slide open from the outside and Quil's body was climbing through, into my room.

"Quil, what are you doing? _I have a door, you know_."

He smiled and took a seat on my bed, after pulling the curtains apart – almost blinding me with the outside light.

"Just wanted to say hi."

"Hi," I chirped.

He laughed. He was so _happy. _Glowing even.

"Aren't you supposed to be on patrol right now?"

"Yeah, but I stole away quickly to come and see you. Not much going on today. Vampires aren't really in season, you know?"

He smiled again, seeming to find his joke amusing.

I didn't like the way he talked about the vampires so casually. The way they had been described in stories here told me that vampires were not something to joke about. Even just sitting here _thinking_ about him getting hurt had me clasping my hand over my chest, subconsciously testing to see if I could actually feel my heart breaking.

"Claire? You okay?" he asked, concerned now.

"What if something happens to you? What if the vampires–"

"_–They won't_," he interrupted, automatically.

"But how can you know that for sure?" I asked, doubtful.

"I can take care of myself. _We_ can take care of ourselves. As a pack, we're too strong for any vampires to hurt. Trust me."

And with that simple reassurance, I did.

With imprinting, comes some inbuilt glitch that makes you trust the other person whole-heartedly, with or without reason. I believed him now. I knew if he said the vampires wouldn't hurt him, then they wouldn't. But the thought of him hurting in _any_ capacity, even if not at the fault of a vampire had me concerned again. I remembered the pained expression he wore during our talks earlier, and how much it hurt me in return.

_His _hurt would always be _my_ hurt. _His_ happiness would always be _my_ happiness. I understood imprinting now, completely.

He was still sitting on the bed watching me now. Waiting for me to say something, like he always did.

Waiting for me to rearrange my thoughts.

Waiting for me to calm down after always snapping stubbornly at him.

Waiting for me to understand the mechanics behind phasing into a werewolf.

Waiting all those years for me to come back and find him.

Waiting for me to decide what we were.

And patiently, at that.

_He_ was patient and kind, while _I_ was impatient and stubborn.

He truly was _my other half._

I knew it then, I didn't need a sign. I didn't need _fate_ to tell me what choice to make. It didn't matter anymore. I _wanted_ to be with Quil. To _really_ be with Quil. I could see clearly now that we _were_ equal like I wanted. He thought imprinting was about _him_ taking care of _me_. But after seeing him only ten minutes ago in the kitchen, he was already back here climbing through my window. He needed me as much as I needed him. Hopeless, beautiful boy.

I looked at him now, and I could see him. Not Quil, but the boy from my dreams that had never left me. The voice that had saved me. The hallucinations that followed me, even when I wanted to escape them. They were always there. _Quil_ would _always_ be there. I didn't need a signal anymore. I didn't need any _fateful_ sign sent from a higher being, telling me what to decide. Quil was literally, my dreams come true. What more could I ask for?

I smiled at the boy from my dreams, still sitting patiently waiting for me to say something.

I didn't speak this time.

Instead, I leaned in and climbed into his lap, testing his resistance. When he didn't flinch, I slowly curled my hands around his neck and pulled myself in to kiss him. I didn't know if this was what he wanted, but if it wasn't then it was _too bad_ for him because this is what _I_ wanted and as his imprint, he had to do as I said. He would just have to get used to it.

I could feel him smiling against my lips now, so I surmised he didn't mind at all. Which was good, because I was beginning to really enjoy myself. Suddenly, imprinting seemed like a lot more fun and a lot less stress.

It was an intensely passionate and desperate kiss; all the emotions of his that had left with me years ago, I was giving back to him in return. I felt his arms wrap around my back as he pulled me in closer to his body, burning me against his skin. Our lips gradually parted, and he let out a slow and heavy breath. We sat with our foreheads leaning against one another for a moment, and then he smiled and talked against my lips.

"_So.. I take it you've decided what you want me to be then?_"

I smiled in return at his smugness. "I think I'll keep you as my _butler_."

He laughed at this and softly kissed me again, then took me into his embrace.

My head sat over his shoulder as we hugged, and that's when I saw it.

Looking out the open window, it was plain and clear.

Sitting at this angle, the forest outside the window was the exact image I had painted on my canvas.

From the trees, to the shadows, to even the moss growing on the three rocks to the left of the forest floor. The multiple shades of green paint I had blended, impeccably matched the leaves and vines that hung off the identically positioned branches. The color of the sky was so bright—rare to penetrate through a forest—but it was there, the blinding light shining through the forest trees. Exactly the same strange way I had painted it.

The window frame perfectly squared the edges of my canvas.

It was my forest painting, come to life, and I would only have only recognized it by sitting in this position.

I knew it then. There was my sign.

_Fate _was reassuring me that I belonged here,

in Quil's arms_._

_-_

**_The End._**

-


End file.
